


Sergeant (Sgt.) Jackson

by TrashySwitch



Category: jacksepticeye egos - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Discussions of WWI, Halfway through, M/M, Secrets, ends in fluff, ticklefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashySwitch/pseuds/TrashySwitch
Summary: Jameson has a secret that no one truly knows about. He has managed to keep it under wraps, but has left bits and pieces of his secret in his room to look at. One night, his secret becomes incredibly hard to hide, and someone catches him doing some...very violent actions...
Relationships: Jameson Jackson/Chase Brody
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Sergeant (Sgt.) Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fan fiction talks about World War I, and the traumatic experiences behind it. If you are sensitive to these topics or you have a family member that is, feel free to close out of this fic. 
> 
> For the rest of you, read at your own risk.
> 
> Dialogue in {these} are his memories, good and bad. 
> 
> Dialogue in [these] are the written words on the laptop he types on.
> 
> Dialogue in (these) represent extra information.

{Bombs exploding...

5 Gunshot sounds every second...

Dirt and mud all over your uniform...

people lying down dead on either side of you...

Jameson hides himself under the trenches, his Mosin-Nagant M1891 musket rifle hugged against his chest. 

Jameson turns to his right, and watches a soldier get shot in the shoulder. The soldier falls backwards, landing in the dirt. Jameson shakes his head to focus on the task at hand. He readies his rifle, double checks his bullet count and takes a deep breath before lifting himself above the trenches to shoot. He fired his gun, pulled the slide back to reload the gun, and fired again. He repeated this action multiple times and shot towards any heads that were available to shoot. 

Suddenly, before he could even think, a bullet came flying, and hit the man. As if in slow motion, Jameson came crashing down, falling backwards and feeling his body hit the hard ground with a loud thump. }

All of a sudden, Jameson gasped and opened his eyes awake. He sat himself up swiftly and felt his forehead for any bullet wounds. No holes, no pain, no nothing. It was just another nightmare. Thank God. Jameson looked around the room, and noticed how dark his window was. Then, Jameson turned his head towards the clock: 1:27. 

These nightmares occurred once in a while. But, he's never woken up in the middle of the night before. This was brand new. So he got up, lit up a lantern and looked around his room. There was a corner of his room dedicated to boxes of old stuff. On the wall were multiple things from Jameson's life: a crumpled letter he had put in a picture frame, a couple rolls of film of his first motion pictures, a poster of his JJ's Jolly Jaunts show, and his personal favorite: his military hat with the British symbol on the front. Jameson smiled as he felt the top of his brown wool trench hat. It still had a bit of dirt stained on the top, and the white British symbol on the front had turned a beige brown from the dirt alone. He carefully lifted the hat off the nail, and placed it on his head. Flashbacks to his recruitment came back to him. The day he lined up alongside other soldiers, who volunteered their time to serve for their country. 

Wanting to see the hat on him again, Jameson looked in the mirror. The hat still fit him surprisingly, and it looked like the only thing that really changed in those years, was his haircut. Jameson smiled at his reflection. 

Soon though, his smile began to fade as flashbacks to the war entered his head. These flashbacks used to always haunt him. But at this point, Jameson had grown somewhat insensitive to him. The memories didn't make him happy nor sad, for the former sergeant was used to the gloomy memories of his war days. The only time his insensitivity would turn to pain and grief, was around Remembrance Day. But, the pain wouldn't last all day. Thankfully, his roommates showed their gratitude and appreciation for their free country. The poppies reminded them of the millions that died, and the thousands that survived and lived to tell the tale. 

Though, Jameson's roommates never truly knew how much those poppies meant to him...He's been internally tempted to walk out of his room on Remembrance Day in his full military uniform, but he refused to give in. Though his mind had grown used to the memories, his consciousness reminded him that his friends didn't quite understand what was really was. Jameson despised the idea of his friends learning a new side of war, and seeing his friends cry over such a painful subject. So, he kept it hidden in plain sight: his bedroom walls. 

As Jameson hung up his hat once again, Jameson played memory after memory in almost perfect order. It didn't take long for Jameson to reach his worst memories: The Nurse's station.

{Pain! So much pain! Every single sharp cut gave him excruciating pain! Immediately after the sharp pain, came even more pain as the nurse cleaned the blood off with a cloth. The feeling of a cloth against his severely bleeding wound hurt so much! A fabric like that should NEVER be placed on an open cut!} 

Jameson could feel his eyes welling up with tears, as his hand gently fluttered itself across his neck. There, on his neck, was a scar. a long one at that. The scar started from the top of his Adam's apple, to the hole in between the collar bones (sternal notch). Painful flashbacks started going through his head...

{Jameson walk up on a hospital bed. He was tired, and was struggling with slight breathing issues. Thinking his lungs had been damaged, he laid there, waiting for a nurse to arrive. He was in a white tent, filled with multiple hospital beds with injured people surrounding him. In those beds, were groaning soldiers who were bandaged up. A man in a bed across from him, was grunting and hissing as a nurse cleaned his bullet wound. Jameson sighed and reached his hand onto his head, to feel for any bandages. 

Thankfully, there were no bandages on his head. Jameson felt down his face, feeling to make sure his face wasn't wounded. No wounds or pain on his face. Then, Jameson made the mistake of touching his neck...Jameson let out a cry of pain, which sounded raspy and only made the pain even worse. Jameson's eyes widened as he slowly, softly and carefully touched his bandaged throat. The front of his neck was injured with a bullet wound, and every breath he took felt like there was something in his trachea. Jameson, fearing for the worst, reached his hand back and felt for any painful wounds in the back. It only took 2 little pokes to create tons of pain in the back of his neck. Jameson let out yet another raspy yell, and retracted his hand from the painful neck. Looking at his hand, he couldn't help but notice the blood spill, that had leaked onto his hand from the bandage. 

This only confirmed his thought: Jameson's bullet wound had an entrance wound, and an exit wound. So, the bullet was not in his body. 

"Don't touch it." Someone warned beside him. Jameson looked up, and saw a female doctor and a nurse standing beside him. 

"What ha-" 

"Don't talk either." The nurse warned. "The bullet went through your larynx, and damaged your vocal chords. We are going to need to operate in order to remove the damage." The nurse explained. Jameson's eyes widened. Operate? They're gonna need to cut him open?! 

"What-" 

"I said no talking." The nurse repeated. Jameson closed his mouth and whimpered in fear. "No vocal sounds, until we've cut out the damage. The more you talk, the worse the damage becomes." The doctor ordered him. Jameson gulped. He wanted to apologize, but that required using the one thing he couldn't use. So, Jameson kept quiet. 

"Nurse, hold his head back, using the sides of his head. We need to make this very quick, so we don't want any moving during this operation." The Doctor told her nurse. the nurse nodded in understanding, and grabbed the sides of his head. 

"Don't worry. it won't take long." the nurse reassured him. Jameson's breathing slowed slightly, for a few seconds.} 

Jameson snapped himself out of it. The hand that held onto his throat, had started to grip and tighten in anger and fear. Unable to handle the memories going through his head, he threw his hand away from his throat and grabbed his empty rifle off of the wall. Jameson wrapped the gun and strap around his body and opened up a drawer. There, in his drawer, were several bags of rifle bullets. Jameson grabbed them, put them in his pocket and headed out his room door. 

Jameson walked down the hall, out to the patio and out into the large backyard. Though the backyard was dark, it was still visible enough thanks to the lanterns that were hung up, and the solar lights that were hammered into the ground. Surrounding the backyard, were several trees. Jameson took off his gun and pulled the slide back to insert a bullet. Then, pushing the slide forward, Jameson readied his hands. The feeling of the gun in his hands was mostly familiar, yet slightly foreign thanks to the decade-long break he took from shooting. aiming his gun with his dominant eye, he focused his eye towards a tree...and...

*BAM!* The gun declared, blasting the bullet right into the tree. The bullet zoomed into the tree and got stuck right into the middle of the tree trunk. Jameson's eyes widened before looking down at his familiar gun. Though Jameson had taken good care of his rifle over the years, he was surprised it still worked as well as it did. Jameson walked over and examined the new hole. Not bad...for a comeback. Jameson walked back to the spot he was standing on before, and pulled out another bullet. Pulling the slide back, Jameson reloaded and pushed the slide forward. Then, readying his hands, he bent his shoulders down and matched his dominant eye with the aiming eye on the top. He readied his finger...and...

*BAM!* Another bullet went flying, but practically missed the tree and hit the edge of another tree, before falling and making a cloud of dust and dirt. Jameson grunted to himself and walked over to retrieve the bullet. He looked around the ground, and soon found the shiny golden bullet within the bland, brownish dirt. As Jameson walked back to his shooting range, Jameson reloaded his gun, using the golden bullet that failed the first time. Jameson turned himself around towards the trees again, and readied his hands once again. He aimed the gun using his dominant eye, and without even thinking about it, started moving certain levers to fix his aiming eye above the gun. Jameson readied his hand on the trigger...and...

*BAM!* The bullet went flying, hitting a tree trunk, and managing to knock off a chunk of bark as well. Jameson was about to walk over, when: 

"JAMIE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Someone shouted behind him. Jameson turned around, taking his gun with him. without even remembering the consequences, Jameson pointed the gun at the man behind him. A high pitched, fearful yelp could be heard from the man in front of him. His head still near the gun, his eye focused onto a black t-shirt. Jameson lifted the gun, and gazed his eyes on a frightful man with a red hat. Jameson slowly but surely walked himself up to the man, examining him. Logically, he recognized this wasn't a soldier. But consciously, he saw the man as just a bystander, who should be killed for finding him...

That was, until Jameson snapped out of his trance and realized who this really was: Chase Brody. Chase had his hands up in surrender as he tried to keep his cool. Though, it's not really easy trying to keep your cool when a close friend of yours is pointing a gun at your face, let alone a man who shouldn't be in possession of such guns...

"Jamie...Think about what you're doing..." Chase told him. Jameson's eyes slowly widened as he realized what he was doing: He was pointing a gun at his best friend! Jameson slowly lowered the gun. Chase slowly walked up to him, and carefully attempted to grab the gun out of his hand. But, Jameson pulled back and hugged his precious gun. For if it weren't for his gun, he wouldn't be alive right now...

So, afraid he may use it against someone or something, Chase slowly walked up towards him, and gripped the gun with both hands. Next, to get the gun off of the man, Chase jerked himself to scare the man. But, unbeknownst to Chase, this would not be as easy as he thought...Jameson didn't move. He didn't flinch, he didn't even blink! He just stayed still, holding the gun with a predator-like stare in his eyes. So, without even a second to consider the consequences, Chase bashed Jameson's chest with the gun, and attempted to slip it out of his hands. And surprisingly, it worked...but at what cost? Jameson still had that numb, predator-like facial expression. He looked like he was planning to lunge at the man. However, Chase didn't notice the facial expression was still there. 

"What on earth were you thinking? Shooting a gun like this in the backyard!" Chase shouted. Jameson jumped back, his facial expression turning to surprised fear. "You realize this is illegal without a license, right?" Chase added. Jameson's face slowly morphed into a slightly angry, mostly confident face. 

'I know.' Jameson signed.

"Then why the hell are you shooting a gun like this?! Hell, WHERE did you get a gun like this?!" Chase asked, looking around at the big thing, that was over half his body height. Upon examination, Chase noticed some white, faded paint on the strap. 

(Sgt. J. Jackson)

"...who- you wrote your name on it?" Chase asked.

'It's mine.' Jameson told him. 

"Well I know it's yours. You obviously bought it. But WHY, IN THE WORLD, do you have one of these?! Are you a hunter or something?" Chase asked, before examining the gun once again. This time, his examining of the old gun was more rough than gentle, which made Jameson very nervous. It was incredibly old after all, and he wanted to preserve it for as long as possible. 

'Careful! You're gonna break it!' Jameson warned him. 

"Aw come on Jamie. It can't be that old." Chase told him, completely naive to the situation. Jameson began to grow angry. How DARE he handle his special gun like that?! He should be treating it like the vintage object it is! Or else, it's gonna get broken! 

'Stop! It's fragile!' Jameson warned him angrily. 

"Oh please! What I'm doing, is nothing compared to what YOU were just doing! You were using it! Something you claim to be 'fragile', should not be used like that!" Chase argued, before dropping it 2 feet onto the ground. Jameson gasped and clenched his fists, horrified at Chase's rough handling and at the thought of it being broken. With all the mechanical sounds it made upon impact, Jameson couldn't tell if it was just shaking machinery, or broken pieces. Either way, Jameson was furious! 

Jameson's face morphed into pure rage, before he sprinted up to the man and tackled him onto the ground. Who does he think he is, handling a century old item that roughly! He should be ashamed of himself! That was an irreplaceable item! If that item broke, he couldn't get it fixed! 1900's Gunsmiths didn't exist anymore! And even if they did, Jameson didn't know anyone who could fix such a thing. 

Jameson breathed furiously through his teeth. He sounded like an angry bear. Chase's face had changed into pure fear! He had NEVER seen Jameson THIS angry before! This wasn't Jamie at all! This was a completely different person! In an attempt to tell Chase how he felt, Jameson let in a quick and sharp breath, and screamed! 

Chase closed his eyes and turned his face away in pure, genuine fear. With his sympathetic nervous system kicked in, Chase could only freeze in place. He couldn't fight! That could make the man even more angry! And he couldn't flee! How could he flee an angry man like this?! Chase could only stay freeze in place, and hyperventilate until Jameson stopped screaming. 

Only...Chase soon realized that the screaming wasn't even screaming at all...it was whisper yelling. Chase slowly turned his face towards Jameson again as he tried to process what Jameson was trying to do. 

It didn't take long for Jameson to also realize his scream was was just one long whisper. In surprise, Jameson stopped his yell, and let in some tired breaths before bringing his hand up to his throat and feeling it. The scar...it was still there...He couldn't talk, yell, even whimper if he wanted to. his vocal cords were completely destroyed. In frustration and anger, Jameson's grip on his throat tightened, as more growls left his mouth. Then, his hand let go and joined his other hand as he clenched his face and covered his eyes with his clenched fists in pure anger. He couldn't tell Chase what he wanted! He couldn't tell Chase anything! 

Jameson's body began to shake, as sobs began to overcome his body. Traumatic memories of his surgery began unconsciously filling his brain. The endless pain that the surgeon put him through! The frustration of not having a voice anymore! The anger that welled up inside him! The yearning for revenge against the soldier that robbed him of his voice! It all started coming out in endless sobs. Soon, Jameson's gripped head made contact with Chase's chest. Jameson was angry, but exhausted after expressing that anger. His brain was fatigued. He was sick and tired of keeping all the war memories inside his head. It was way too much for a man to handle! And to top it off, Jameson was immortal. He had survived for more than a century, without growing old. If he had grown up and gotten physically older, Jameson might've been able to handle the memories better. But since Jameson's body never aged, Jameson had to look in the mirror at the very young man that survived the war so many years ago. Everyday, looking at the mirror reminded him of the same, recognizable face that got home from war with traumatizing memories in his head. And now? Chase has seen his worst. His war face, his gun, even his meltdown was a sign of Jameson's haunting past. 

Meanwhile, Chase had been softly rubbing Jameson's hair and curled back, in an attempt to sooth him. Chase had so many questions to ask the man. But for now, all Chase could do was calm him through the endless, pain-stricken meltdown. Whatever happened to Jameson, was clearly something traumatic. Chase could easily theorize that the meltdown had something to do with his voice. Did the man have a voice before he met him? If so, how did he lose it? Did the throat scar he's seen countless times, have something to do with it? What in the world happened for Jameson, that he would need to shoot a gun in the backyard? Heck, how did Jameson have such a thing in his possession?! Did he buy it? Did he get a license without telling anyone? Or...was there a secret story that no one knew about, except for the dapper boy himself? Was Jameson even the dapper boy they knew and loved?! Or...was he someone else...hidden under a theater facade? 

After a long 35 minutes of crying and comfort, Jameson's crying had begun to slow. His cheeks and hands were covered in tears, and his sobbing whisper noises were shaky. Chase had laid his chin on the man's head, and was now playing with his hair, rather than rubbing it. Jameson started to control his breathing, and try to breath in calmly rather than shaky. The mental strain of keeping his thoughts in were a lot less heavy, but he felt the need to talk it out. Tell everyone every single secret he'd been keeping since he met them. 

Jameson lifted his head off of Chase and looked him in the eyes for the first time. Chase moved his hand off of his head, and looked back at Jameson. His eyes were no longer angry, full of fight or frustrated. His eyes were filled with pain. His eyes screamed 'help me', and his facial expression told Chase 'everything hurts'. Just by looking at Jameson's eyes alone, Chase felt the urge to wanna cry with him. He felt tears starting to well up, and allowed them to fall. He didn't start sobbing or whimpering. He just cried silently with him. Chase moved Jameson's messy bangs out of his eyes, and gave him a small, empathetic smile. 

"How do you feel?" Chase asked the man. 

Jameson looked away for a minute, before looking back at him. 'I'm ready to go now.' Jameson signed. Chase nodded and lightly squeezed his shoulder. Jameson got off of Chase, and picked up his rifle. He put it over his shoulder, and looked towards Chase. When he felt ready, Chase sat himself up as well, and got himself up onto his feet. Then, both adults opened up the patio door and walked into the house. 

After taking off his shoes, Jameson sat at the table and started playing with his hands on the table. Chase walked over to his room, and came back to the kitchen with two laptops. After opening up a document and sharing it with the other laptop address, he opened up the other laptop and opened up the shared document. Now, both laptops had the same document pulled up. Whenever Chase would type something on the one laptop, the other laptop would collect the words as well. 2 laptops, one document. 

"Here." Chase said, giving Jameson one of the laptops. "I want you to type what's going through your mind. It doesn't matter if they answer my earlier questions. I just want to know how I can help you." Chase explained. 

Jameson looked at the laptop. This was his chance to tell Chase about everything going through his head. His one chance to tell him what's really going on...but...he couldn't put it to words...There were so many things to talk about, he didn't know what to start with...So, Jameson lifted one finger and started typing something. 

[...] 

Then, Jameson brought his hand back into his lap. 

Chase sighed. "Come on, Jamie. You can do it." Chase told him. Jameson looked at him, broken and uninspired. "Here. Let's start with this: tell me about the gun." Chase offered. Jameson looked at the laptop, and sighed before leaning himself in and moving his fingers over the keyboard. 

[It's a Mosin-Nagant M1891 Rifle.] 

Chase's eyebrows lifted. "Wow...very...specific." Chase reacted. Jameson continued his typing. 

[It's my gun. I've had it since I was a teenager.] 

"Really? how old do you have to be to get a firearms certificate?" Chase asked. Jameson continued his typing. 

[Nowadays, you have to be between the ages of 14, and 15. Back then though, you had to be a certain age to get enlisted into the war, which earned you a firearm. I got enlisted as a 15 year old.] Jameson explained. 

Chase's eyes widened. "Oh my go- You were part of the army?!" Chase reacted, unable to believe him. Jameson sighed and continued typing. 

[I was, when World War 1 started. My Father had to go off to war. I was the oldest of 3 children, and I couldn't stand the idea of my Father going off to the war on his own. I had to help him, but I wasn't old enough. So, I faked my age and got enlisted.] 

"...Dude...you lied to get into war?!" Chase reacted. 

[I had to. The Women's Suffrage movement was going around, handing out white feathers to adult men, and calling them cowards for not enlisting themselves. I was given a white feather! They thought I was old enough, and shamed me for not serving my country. The last straw came, when my Dad enlisted himself. I didn't want him going alone.] 

"Oh my gosh...I'm sorry Jamie." Chase said, guiltily. 

[Besides: I didn't know how traumatic it was gonna be...Who knew that serving your country, meant stomping in mud, watching your fellow soldier members killed, seeing explosions and hearing gunshots every which way? I would've rather lived in the fire-filled gates of hell.] 

"Okay...you don't need to talk about anything else if you don't want to. I understand." Chase reassured him, feeling bad for pushing the man to tell him about this stuff. 

[No...I want to. I've already started, I minus well finish.] 

[I walked through multiple trenches during my time. I received letters once in a while, but rarely any food treats. The food was awful. The worst of the food, was Maconochie. It was a disgusting stew with meat (or what they claimed to be meat), and cut up veggies in gravy. It was disgusting, and I NEVER want to eat it ever again.]

"Eeeehehehew! that sounds terrible!" Chase reacted. Jameson looked at Chase, puzzled. Upon realizing what he did, Chase jolted. "Oh- Sorry! I...I didn't mean to laugh. I didn't even realize I laughed..." Chase told him. Jameson's face softened, as a slight smile showed. 

'it's okay.' Jameson signed, before resuming with his typing. 

[Our meals were usually either the dreaded Maconochie, or bully beef. Bully beef was literally just corned beef. On top of that, they sometimes served biscuits. But, those biscuits could destroy your teeth if you didn't soak them first.] 

Jameson let out a dry laugh at that part. "God...No wonder you ban us from throwing away stale bread! The stale bread is still pretty edible, compared to those biscuits..." Chase mentioned. 

[All food wasn't wasted. If you wasted the food, you'd starve that day. Soldiers had only 2 meals a day, and 4,000 calories daily. Though, I will admit that we had tea every day. That was a nice trench luxury. Cold or hot, it was nice to have some tea in your tummy. And, the tea made the bad water more drinkable.] 

"Huh...cool." Chase reacted. 

[I walked through trenches for 2 years, before getting injured in battle. An enemy shot me right through the neck, damaging my trachea and my vocal cords. The ]

Jameson paused his typing and stared down at the keyboard, struggling to type out the next part. 

"...What's wrong?" Chase asked, leaning forward to rub his back. Jameson could feel the urge to want to cry again. It didn't take long for his eyes to fill with tears again. 

[The nurses had to operate ] 

Jameson wrote, struggling to write much more. Memories of the surgery began going through his head...

{The pain of getting his throat skin pulled aside with retractors, hurt for multiple reasons. Not only was the after pain of the scalpel's cut still hurting him, but the painful feeling of the retractors separating and stretching his skin! It was enough to make tears run down the sides of his eyes!} 

[They...cut me open without anesthetic.] 

Chase's eyes widened, before his turned his head towards the pain-stricken man. "Oh my god...really? But- I thought anesthetic was around during World War 1!" Chase reacted. 

[It was, but they told me after the surgery that they didn't have the time. But, even if they did, they would've chosen to do the surgery without anesthetic either way. they didn't want to risk me dying from oxygen deficiency.] 

"Jesus...I couldn't imagine the pain..." Chase reacted. 

Jameson let out a dry laugh. 'You don't want to. It was super painful.' Jameson signed. 

{Jameson had to handle 2 entire hours of that pain. Halfway through the procedure, the doctors discovered some bad news. 

"The vocal cords are too damaged...We have to remove the entire larynx." One of the nurses told her staff. 

Jameson's eyes widened. WHAT?! THEY HAVE TO REMOVE ALL HIS VOCAL CHORDS?! Jameson wanted to protest! He didn't want this! He'd rather die than live without a voice! But...he couldn't tell them anything. They couldn't waste any time to look at his game of charades! They had to keep going, before an infection set in! Jameson had no choice...but to accept his voiceless fate, and deal with the sharp pain that overcame his body next...} 

[They cut out everything, and sewed my trachea together. The recovery was painful, physically AND mentally. Though I got some morphine for the pain, it took me a long time to come to terms with having no voice. The only time I felt okay with having no voice, was when my career in theater started. The motion pictures were silent and replaced with orchestra music and dialogue slides, so I didn't have to speak at all. I just had to over-pronounce my lips and act dramatically.] 

"Wow...so, acting actually helped you feel better about your lack of voice..." Chase clarified. Jameson nodded. 

[That's right. I later went to a school for the deaf, so I could learn sign language. There was a fellow actor who joined me, and learned sign language with me, so he could interpret what I was saying for the rest of the staff.] 

"That's awesome!" Chase reacted. "And when I met you at that old vintage store, I whipped out my phone and looked up a bunch of words in sign language so I could befriend you." Chase added. 

Jameson laughed and scratched the back of his head. 'The sign language was a bit much...' Jameson admitted. 

"Well...I didn't know. I thought you were deaf." Chase told him. 

'Yeah...little did you know that I could hear you the whole time. The man behind the desk actually had to tell you that.' Jameson explained, remembering the funny interaction. 

{Jameson and Chase had literally just met. Jameson was working at the local thrift store, alongside the cashier that had introduced them. Chase was a frequent visitor who decided one day, to befriend the deaf man. Chase attempted to spell out his name in sign language.

"I don't know if you realize this, but he can hear you perfectly well." The cashier told him. Chase's eyes widened, as he slowly lowered his hand. 

"...Really?" Chase, speaking and signing. Jameson nodded slightly awkwardly. Chase practically sunk down on the spot. "God...that's embarrassing..." Chase reacted, utterly embarrassed. 

Jameson giggled under his breath. 'Ya. I'm not deaf. I'm mute.' Jameson explained, placing his hands over his ears for 'deaf', and placing his hand over his mouth for 'mute'. 

"Oh...I guess that makes things a bit easier then!" Chase said, shrugging his shoulders. "My name's Chase."

Jameson nodded. 'My name is Jameson Jackson.' Jameson signed, signing the letter J, and touching the the J's hook onto his mustache. To end it off, Jameson wiggled his lip, wiggling his mustache back and forth. Chase giggled at the mustache wiggle. It was childish and cartoon-y, but also cute. 

"As you can tell, he's very dramatic." the cashier told Chase. Chase laughed at this. 

"I can tell. It looks like he purposefully glued the mustache on and everything." Chase told him. Jameson spun the tip of his mustache with his thumb and index finger, before signing 'Thanks, I grew it myself.' and striking a pose. 

Even though Chase didn't fully understand what he signed, he still understood what he meant quite well, thanks to the acting aspect. Chase laughed and rolled his eyes. "Show off..." Chase said with a smile. 

Jameson began to feel slightly bad, so he brought the conversation back to Chase. 'Hey! I like your facial hair!' Jameson signed, signing 'facial hair' by rubbing his own cheeks and chin. 'Can I...' Jameson started, before signing the word 'touch' by bringing his hands a little close to Chase, and pretending to stroke his beard. Chase's eyes widened, backing up slightly. 

"Hey! You can't just ask someone you just met, to touch their beard! That's weird! You should know better!" The cashier yelled. 

'It worked with you!' Jameson argued. 

"Yeah, and you're lucky I didn't punch you in the face for that!" The cashier defended. 

"Hey! How could you punch an adorable bean like Jamie?!" Chase reacted, letting out his words before he regretted them. Jameson and the cashier froze. "...Besides...Jameson could touch my beard any day." Chase added, to make it less awkward. Though, all this really did, was make the situation even more awkward. Jameson could feel his face growing red, and began attempting to cover up his face with his hands. 

Meanwhile, the cashier had a very suspicious facial expression. "Hey Jamie...I think we got ourselves a gay boy over here. Are you gay, by any chance?" The cashier commented bluntly, shooting him a smirk and a wink. 

Chase looked over at the man. The only sound that left his mouth, was "uh..." before Jameson cut in. 

'Dude! Don't ask him if he's gay! you're embarrassing me!' Jameson warned him, his face still red from Chase's comments. 

"Aww! Did I embawass youuu?" The cashier asked in a baby voice. Unable to hide his already red face, Jameson could only do one thing: He put his fingers under his chin, and did a sign similarly to the sign 'thank you'...but in fact, he had just signed the words 'F*ck you' to his best friend. 

The cashier gasped, before grabbing his hands and bringing them in front of him. "Such language coming from an adorable bean like you!" The cashier teased, before wiggling and squeezing his 5 fingers all over Jameson's ribs and sides. "You, my sir, have chosen a terrible time to be swearing!" The cashier teased further. Jameson bursted out in silent laughter, and began squirming everywhere he could. Chase's eyebrows raised, as his jaw slightly dropped. Jamie didn't have a laugh! I mean...he did, but not a laugh-out-loud type of laugh! His laughter was purely silent and convulsive! Chase moved himself around to get a better angle of Jameson's face. His face was priceless! Jameson's mouth was sparking a bright, toothy grin and his eyes were squeezed shut. His hands, which were being held by the cashier's left hand, were signing as many shaky signs as he could at once! 

"Hey Chase! You wanna help me out?" The cashier asked. 

Chase shrugged his shoulders. "Sure! I'll help!" Chase replied. 

"Great! Hold his hands for me! I need 2 hands for this." The cashier told him, giving Chase his wrists. Chase undid Jameson's shirt sleeves, and held them up so Jameson's hands and wrists were hanging, and capable of signing better. The cashier had started skittering his fingers all over Jameson's ribs, sides, stomach, and even his armpits! 

"Wow! You know every ticklish spot!" Chase reacted. 

"Of course I do! I've been friends with this little bastard for 6 years!" The cashier admitted. 

"Huh...So I guess this is a common occurrence?" Chase guessed. 

"Somewhat." The cashier admitted, still tickling the man. } 

Chase laughed at the silly memory. They ended up both tickling him that day. "God...And then he wanted me to believe you were over a century old!" Chase said, finishing reexplaining the story. 

'Little did you know...' Jameson started. 

"It was actually true!" Chase finished his sentence. "And not only that, but you're still ticklish!" Chase added, leaning in to skitter his fingers all over Jameson's belly. 

Jameson bursted out laughing and curled into stop the fingers. But, Chase got up from his seat, walked behind him and unloaded his skittery fingers all over Jameson's ribs. Jameson threw his head back and laughed through a wide toothy grin. His eyes grew as wide as donuts, before squeezing shut. His squirming continued back and forth as his body leaned back against Chase's body. Chase's fingers began drilling into Jameson's ribs and wiggling deeply. This caused Jameson's squirming to skyrocket! On top of that, Jameson's hands were reached back, gripping onto the back of the chair. This left Jameson's worst spot open! That silly, naive man...

"I'm gonna do it..." Chase whispered, moving his hands slowly up the ribs. Jameson started frantically shaking the hands off of him, and signing as quickly as he could. 

'Don't! Not there!' Jameson signed desperately. 

"But Jamie! That's my favourite spot to tickle! I can't say no now! It's too tempting!" Chase argued, moving his hands farther up the middle of his ribs. 

'Don't! Don't don't don't don't don't! Please!' Jameson begged. 

"I think it's a bit too late for begs now, Jamie..." Chase said, reaching the top 3 ribs. "Because..." Chase added, wiggling his finger on the second top rib. "I reached it!" Chase declared proudly. Chase shoved his fingers into Jameson's armpits proudly, causing Jameson to drop his arms down, trapping Chase's hands in his armpits. Jameson wiggled aggressively, but nothing could stop Chase from tickling his devastatingly ticklish armpits. Jameson had begun kicking the air in front of him, occasionally hitting a wooden piece under the table. Chase was so happy that he was feeling better. Seeing Jameson's World War side, was terrifying to see. This little ticklish moment showed Chase that even if Jameson had dealt with the traumas of World War 1, he was still the Jameson they knew and loved. 

Unsurprisingly, it didn't take long for Jameson to turn around and get revenge. Jameson's slithery fingers managed to sneak through his chair and give Chase a few pokes on the sides! That managed to work wonders because before Jamie knew it, Chase was lying on the ground, giggling still. Jameson took that opportunity to get off the chair, and get revenge on Chase. 

"EEEK! Wait! JAHAHAHAMIHIHIE! NAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE! I'M TOO TICKLIHIHIHIHISH!" Chase reacted, falling into a newfound giggle fit. 

Jameson smiled at Chase's reactions. Chase's laughter was so bubbly! It was so similar to how his own laughter sounded before the surgery. He remembered he had told his co-worker (Who's name was Terry, by the way) that Chase's laughter was almost a perfect resemblance of his own laughter! And the result? Chase ended up getting tickle attacked by him while Terry recorded it. Terry started teasing the poor man during the video, which made Chase INCREDIBLY flustered! Terry ended up emailing the video to him, which Jameson still keeps on his computer to this day. And now, he didn't need that video! He could just make Chase laugh whenever he wanted! 

"PLEHEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHI'M SAHAHARRY!" Chase shouted through his laughter. 

Jameson did the puppy dog lips and shrugged his shoulders, before he lifted up Chase's shirt. "Whahahat ahahare yohohou gohonna dohoho?" Chase asked, not liking the mischievous face Jameson was giving him. Jameson pushed Chase's shirt up a little more, before taking a BIG breath in, and...

Giving the man a RASPBERRY!

Chase threw his head back and let every single breath of laughter out. "AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!" Chase's head was shaking back and forth as he begged for the man to stop. 

'1 more.' Jameson signed. Before Chase could even say anything, Jameson had already taken a deep breath, and...gave him another raspberry! 

"NAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MEHEHEHEHERCY! MEHEHEHEHEHERCYYYYYY!" Chase pleaded for mercy. 

Jameson's face was ecstatic! Jameson had began clapping his hands excitedly, and grinning. If he still had a voice, there most likely would've been a squeal mixed in as well. 

"Whahahat's sohoho ehehexcihihiting?" Chase asked, calming down, still letting out some leftover giggles from the tickle attack. 

'Your laughter sounds like mine!' Jameson reacted. 

Chase's eyes widened. "Wait, what?!" Chase reacted. Jameson nodded. Chase gasped. "Oh my god, seriously?! That's awesome!" Chase reacted. Jameson smiled, looking down at the floor. 

'I miss my laugh sometimes.' Jameson admitted. Chase's smile slowly dropped. what replaced it, was a small, empathetic smile. 

"It's okay to feel like that. It's something you miss. I miss my kids. A lot. I wish they were still a bigger part of my life." Chase admitted. Jameson looked at Chase, and reflected his empathetic smile. It wasn't the exact same thing, but Jameson respected Chase's attempts to empathize.

Soon, Jameson laid himself down beside Chase and hugged him. Chase hugged Jameson back, feeling bittersweet about the whole thing. Together, they cuddled on the floor until the first alarm in the house went off that morning. No one knew why they were lying down on the floor near the table, why there were laptops on the table and more importantly, why there was a rifle hanging on the chair. But people started to understand everything once they read the computer notes. 

They discovered a secret about Jameson. They discovered he was a sergeant in the first world war, and he did the whole thing: Walked the trenches, ate the food, and killed the foes with a rifle gun. Then, he got injured and had to get surgery without anesthetic to save his life. But it wasn't without a painful sacrifice. Not only did he lose his voice, he lost his innocence and part of his identity. If it weren't for his acting career, he may not have gotten any better. 

By the time Jameson had woken up, everyone was ready to give him a big group hug. They supported him. They supported him despite the pain he went through, and they proved once again that they love him despite his lack of a voice. Besides: Who needs a voice when you have hands? 

To thank Jameson for his service, everyone grabbed poppies from their rooms and put them on. They stood in two lines on either side, ready to salute him when he came out. Soon, Jameson came out in his full military gear, with his hat, his purple heart metal, and his empty rifle wrapped around him. Jameson, to end it off, put on a poppy of his own, to honor the several men who died right beside him in the trenches. 

'Thank you.' Jameson signed to his friends. 

"You're welcome. And thank YOU, Sergeant Jackson." Chase replied. Jameson rolled and shook his head with a smile. Jameson hadn't heard that name in decades...And surprisingly, it felt good hearing it from his friends.


End file.
